corduroy jacket

The ceiling fan is blowing hard, and Suki zips up her jacket.

“How are you, Suki? You haven’t picked up in months,” says Tamika over the phone. “Are you alive?”

“Barely,” says Suki, sinking into her couch. “Med school is no joke.”

“So you’re still in school?”

Suki scoffs. “Of course I’m still in school. Why would I not be?”

“Your mom told my mom you had to take a few weeks off in November. Is that true?”

What a traitor, Suki thinks, scowling. “I got sick.”

Tamika groans. “I swear your immune system was so strong in college. What did you get? Flu? Pneumonia?”

Suki wrapped her corduroy jacket tighter around her shoulders. “Common cold.”

“You were out for weeks because of a cold? I don’t believe that.”

The truth was, she wasn’t sick. At least, not that kind of sick. It wasn’t the illness that made her nose runny or throat dry. It was the kind that made her heart ache and her limbs feel numb.

“Come on, Suki, you can tell me anything,” Tamika is saying. “What, is it an STD or something?”

“Tamika.”

“Sorry! I had to make sure.”

“Whatever,” says Suki, unbelieving. “Hey, I have to go eat lunch soon.”

“Ok. Can I ask you a quick question before you go?”

“Sure.”

There’s a hesitant pause. “Was it…is it because of Jin?”

Silence.

“Suki…can we please talk about—”

“I’m fine, ok? Gosh, not everything is about him,” says Suki. “I have to go eat now. I’ll call you later.”

“No you won’t,” Tamika says.

Suki hangs up. Wipes her palms on her corduroy pants. Takes a sip of water.

No one had brought Jin up in a while. It was kind of an unspoken rule.

ᥫ᭡.

Fall 2002

She never really got along with him.

The first week of classes at UPenn were some she’d be glad to forget, but of course she never could. Back then, Suki always had her caramel hair tied up and she had these awful curtain bangs she’d cut herself the summer after senior year. The fan was blowing extra hard in her room because summers in Chicago were somehow hot, the windows were wide open, and Suki was in her bathroom with a pair of scissors. And somehow, after she had done a disastrous deed to her hair, she thought it was cute.

Her roommate, Tamika Mizuno, had laughed when she’d arrived. “Cute bangs.”

“Thanks. I can cut some for you, too.” Suki also didn’t pick up on most social cues.

Whenever Tamika and her friends saw her around school, they always whispered behind their hands or gave her weird looks. Everyone seemed to think she was weird.

Except for her chemistry teacher.

“Suki Sinclair,” said Dr. Dongahue after the first class, stopping Suki from making a quick escape. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You were valedictorian at your high school, right? You got the Evan Pugh award, too?”

Suki nodded at her shoes.

“I’m impressed,” said Dr. Dongahue. “I got quite lucky this year—two top students in the same class. Well, at UPenn, I guess everyone is a top student. But some more than others.” She laughed.

Suki looked up. “Sorry, ‘two top students’?” she repeated.

Dr. Dongahue winked. “Have a nice day, Suki.”

Suki didn’t have to wait long to figure out who it was. Probably because two days later, Dr. Dongahue had made a new seating chart, and Suki was lab partners with Lee Jin-woo.

His appearance shocked Suki—middle-parted straight but a little out-of-place black hair, not messy but definitely at odds with his otherwise perfect features: high cheekbones and a very defined jawline.

At first she stared. And then she said, “Hi.”

He looked at her, scanned her. Corduroy pants, baggy t-shirt, hair in two french braids, curtain bangs awkwardly brushing her chin. “Hang on, are you the Bed Head Brat?”

The room got quiet. A few people snickered. Someone took out his flip phone to take a picture.

Suki gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

“Not me, your roommate,” said Jin, shrugging. “How have you not heard?”

Suki’s heart dropped. “Probably because that’s the point of a rumor.”

“Tough luck.”

She truly wanted to disappear.

ᥫ᭡.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” says Suki’s mom, looking concerned. “I have a lot of leftover noodles from this morning.”

“Give them to the rest of your customers, not me,” says Suki, observing the ramen shop from the window inside the kitchen. It’s busy for a late December afternoon. New Years is in two days, but the shop is packed.

“I might close early,” says her mom, rinsing the dishes in her sink.

Suki looks over. “Why?”

Her mom continues to avoid eye contact. “I thought maybe we could spend some time together today. Since you’re going back to Baltimore in a week.”

Suki sighs. Johns Hopkins started earlier than most universities after winter break. And so far, she hadn’t spent much time with her mom. With anyone, really. She just wanted to be alone.

“Just think about it, ok?”

“Ok,” says Suki, getting off the stool. “Let me help you with some of the dishes.”

ᥫ᭡.

Fall 2002

Suki shoved the door open and let it slam back. Tamika jumped.

“What the hell? I was changing,” she said, pulling over her top.

“‘Bed Head Brat’?” Suki repeated. “What did I ever do to you?”

Tamika flushed and bit her lip. “Oh.”

“Tell me,” said Suki, her voice raising. “Tell me what I did or I’m going to the dean.”

Tamika rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, maybe because you always turn the lights out at nine pm, don’t let me invite anyone over, and you stole my shampoo. And I wasn’t complimenting your bangs. They’re horrible.”

Suki felt like she’d been slapped. “I didn’t steal your shampoo, you stole mine!”

Thirty seconds later they found out they had the same shampoo.

“Still,” said Tamika, visibly embarrassed, “you’re totally ruining this for me.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me instead of spreading rumors about me?” said Suki, tears stinging in her eyes. “Now everyone knows me as Bed Head Brat.”

“Sorry,” Tamika muttered, staring at the floor.

“Also, you think my hair is bad?” Suki scoffed. “You’re the one with a geriatric bob.”

Tamika gaped at her. “Excuse me?”

“Do you even brush that thing? It’s like a ball,” Suki continued. “And that eyeliner? I don’t know who told you it was cute.”

“Seriously? You’re the one wearing baggy t-shirts over corduroy pants,” Tamika countered.

“It’s better than jeans under a sundress.”

“You still use a flip phone.”

“Your iPod is ugly.”

“You’re ugly.”

“You’re uglier!”

There was a pause.

Then Suki snorted.

“What?” said Tamika, blinking.

“This is so stupid,” she said, and before long she was doubled over, clutching her stomach.

Tamika stared, but then, because she couldn’t help it, she joined in, laughing breathlessly and wiping tears from her eyes.

And that was Suki’s first friend at UPenn.

Nobody understood it at first. Suddenly, two people who famously couldn’t stand each other were eating together in the dining room, laughing at something on Tamika’s iPod, and taking walks by the lake, using Suki’s digital camera to take pictures. By late October, Tamika grew out her bob a little, and helped Suki cut her bangs to look a little less tragic.

But there was still a problem, and his name was Jin.

Suki slammed her pen down. “You changed my conclusion.”

Jin didn’t look up. “I improved it.”

“By rewriting something completely different?”

He glanced up, smirking. “Occam’s razor, Suki. Simpler is better.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You’re worse.”

“I want a new lab partner.”

“I need a new lab partner.”

Suki sighed loudly and slammed the textbook shut. “Fine. I’m going to finish this myself tonight. Don’t touch anything else.”

“You can’t do it yourself.”

“Try me.”

He tried her. Well, more like he found her—slumped over on a long table in the library at 11 PM, facedown. The textbook lay open beside her, papers and highlighters strewn on it, forgotten.

He smiled to himself. Nudged her. “Suki, wake up.”

She stirred, eyes fluttering groggily. “Go away.”

“We have to finish the paper.” He nudged her arm, trying to get her to sit up.

“Go away,” she repeated, moving briefly, only to slump back over.

Jin froze. Suki’s hair brushed his chin. She shifted slightly and rested her cheek on his chest, sighing deeply.

“Suki,” he whispered again, his heart beating loudly. “Suki, you fell asleep on me.”

She didn’t move. He knew—or hoped—she wouldn’t remember this as he adjusted her head to be a little more comfortable on his shoulder, and carefully took the pencil out of her hand. The lab report would be ready by morning.

ᥫ᭡.

“Chicken noodle with miso soup, to-go.”

“Name for the order?”

“Marigold.”

“It will be ready shortly,” Suki’s mom replies to the woman behind the counter. She turns around and shouts the order back at Suki and Jordan.

“Funny how I’m suddenly staff here,” Suki mutters.

Jordan laughs. “You know, you’re all your mom talks about,” he says, handing her the bowl to place on the stove and filling up the kettle. “I’m pretty sure everyone remembers the day you got into UPenn.”

Suki smiles at the memory, her heart burning. “Remember the day I got straight A’s on all my midterms?”

Jordan groans. “Your mom invited so many people over. I was working overtime.”

Suki laughs. “She’s always been my biggest supporter.”

“It’s a good and bad thing,” says Jordan, dropping the noodles into the bowl. “She celebrates you when you’re doing well, and when you’re not, she suddenly doesn’t know what to do.”

Suki freezes, peers at him. Nobody asked questions when she had to come home—maybe they assumed she was burnt out.

But did Jordan know the real reason?

Sometimes, not even Suki knew the real reason. Or maybe she just pretended she didn’t.

ᥫ᭡.

Winter 2002

Tamika was starting to get worried. She hadn’t seen her roommate in days. Not at night, not during meals, and not even during their one shared class.

Everyone she asked seemed concerningly unconcerned. “It’s midterm season,” her chemistry professor explained. “I heard she sleeps in the library,” her RA added.

Across the school, Suki was hugging her thin sweater tighter and breathing white puffs into the air. It was dark, and a few snow flurries drifted around the sidewalk. “You don’t have to walk with me, you know,” she muttered. “Your dorm is the other way.”

Jin shrugged, his nonchalant walk unfaltering. “You never know what could happen this late at night. I’m not going to be responsible for your dead body.”

Suki rolled her eyes. “You will be if you continue being so annoying when we study together.”

“I’m not the annoying one, bed head.”

“Hey!” she said, shoving him. “My hair is way better than it was at the beginning of the year.”

Jin laughed. “Yeah, it was terrible. I like your hair now, though.” He reached out and touched the ends of it.

“Touch me again and I’ll hurt you.”

He poked her shoulder, and she shouted and started chasing him down the sidewalk. Jin ran ahead, laughing, and she sprinted to catch up, shouting his name.

“Oh!” She fell forward suddenly, tripping over a faulty sidewalk.

An arm wrapped around her waist, breaking her fall. Breathing heavily, she leaned on his arm, catching her breath.

He didn’t move.

“Are you going to hurt me?” he said into her ear.

She tried to break herself free from his grasp, hiding her blushing face. “Let me go.”

“You’re literally leaning on me.”

“Not on purpose.”

He let her go, brushing off her arms as she stood straight. “Your face is red.”

“I’m cold.”

He shrugged off his brown coat, offering it to her.

She hesitantly took it, her fingers dangling it at the tip. “It’s corduroy.”

“So?”

She slipped it on over her sweater. It was way warmer. “Thank you.”

He shrugged, turning away. “Whatever. Don’t give it back, it’s all gross now because of you.”

She smiled at the sidewalk.

ᥫ᭡.

Summer 2004

Later, Suki would describe it as the happiest three and a half years of her life.

Weeks after the snow incident, she ran to his dorm in her pajamas. Ran all the way across campus, Tamika running a little behind, shouting at her to come back. Knocked on his door at one in the morning. Told him she thought she might be in love with him, there in the hallway.

Just like what happened with Tamika, nobody could believe it. How could two students who used to argue and sometimes yell at each other publicly be so hopelessly in love? How could the girl who complained so loudly that she was lab partners with the ugliest, most conceited boy in school now run over to give him a hug, play with his hair in class, and kiss his cheek before he left for the holidays? How could the boy who shouted at her in the library now hold her hand, soothe her when she was sad, and brush the hair out of her face when she was busy studying and didn’t have a hair tie?

Nobody could figure it out. Sometimes, even they couldn’t.

And predictably, nobody could figure out what happened the summer before their senior year. Suki remembered so vividly that thinking about it made her fingernails hurt.

Standing in the parking lot, warm tears in her eyes. Jin turned away, staring at the pavement.

“I don’t understand,” Suki said, her voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jin sniffed. His face was wet. “I don’t know.”

Jin told her everything. When he passed a test, failed a test, even when he tripped on the sidewalk on the way to work. He never missed a goodnight text, even when they were in a fight.

But he’d kept something from her for three years. Something that would change her life.

ᥫ᭡.

“Why is everyone craving ramen on a random Tuesday night?” Jordan says, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a towel.

“I have no clue,” says Suki, glancing at the packed shop. Happy families, couples, and occasionally a person alone, studying or staring out the window. Outside, the sky is dark, and a few snow flurries drift, dissolving the second they touch the window or pavement.

“I have to go finish the laundry upstairs,” Suki’s mom tells her, handing her the uniform apron. “Can you take the last orders for me? I’m closing early tonight.”

“Sure,” says Suki, tying the apron around her waist. “Sorry, Jordan.”

A young Asian man about Suki’s age opens the door, shaking off his umbrella and removing his puffer coat.

“Welcome to the Lucky Cafe,” she says. “What can I get for you?”

He briefly glances up at the menu, then says, “Shio ramen, but replace the chicken with pork.”

“For here or to-go?” she says, punching numbers on the screen.

“Here.”

“Name for the order?”

“Jin.”

Her finger freezes.

She looks up at him.

An unassuming man looks back. “Sorry? Is there a problem?”

Of course it’s not Jin. Not her Jin. It couldn’t be. Because six months ago, she stood in the hospital waiting room, fingernails clutched so hard on her arms that they started bleeding. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the doctor to come back.

Angrily wiping her tears, because how could Jin have not told her?

Weeping, because why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it be anyone else?

She doesn’t realize she’s sobbing until Jordan is apologizing to the troubled man at the register, her mother is rushing back inside, holding Suki back and promising her that it is ok. Suki is wailing, the customers are disturbed.

Suki tries to apologize. Tries to get a hold of herself. Tries to forget him. Tries to forget how it felt to drink soju with him on late nights, dancing in the kitchen to the low jazz on the radio. Write him letters when he was traveling, buy him cute gifts for when he returned. Wait for him outside the math and science building so they could walk together, sharing random facts from their day.

She hasn’t cried before tonight. Not in six months. She hasn’t even taken off the corduroy jacket. Because doing so would make it real.

It would mean he’s gone.

And she can’t let herself believe that.